Do What You Have to Do
by kaly
Summary: To save his brother, Sam has to make his first kill on a hunt. Gen. Preseries: Sam's 15, Dean's 19.


Title: Do What You Have to Do  
Author: kaly  
Category: Gen; angst; pre-series (Sam 15, Dean 19)  
Characters: Dean, Sam, John   
Word Count: 7,800  
Rating: K  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: To save his brother, Sam has to make his first kill on a hunt.

Note: Once again, geminigrl11 provided the beta - thank you kindly, once more!

Disclaimer: Not mine. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to Kripke & the CW.

Do What You Have to Do

They'd been in northern Minnesota for over a week, living out of a rented cabin, watching the snow pile higher with each passing day. Their dad had read a newspaper article about a lumberjack and a couple of hikers who had gone missing and after digging into it some more, he had been convinced there were one, maybe two, agropelters in the area.

It had taken some persuading from Dean, but their dad had agreed to wait until school let out - it had only been a week - to follow the lead. So they'd arrived in the middle of nowhere, as Dean dubbed it, with enough provisions for a couple of weeks before they had to go into town. However, he couldn't help thinking labeling it a town was giving it too much credit.

Since they'd arrived, their dad had gone out scouting a few times. For the daytime trips, Dean and Sam had gone out with him, hoping to cover more area. They'd split up, John going one direction, the boys together going in another.

At night, their dad went alone, much to Dean's annoyance. He had insisted, though, wanting Dean and Sam to stay at the cabin after dark, just in case. The only thing that made Dean the slightest bit happier about the situation was they hadn't found any hint of an actual creature.

Also helping was they hadn't found any indication that the creatures were nocturnal. Though if Dean were being honest, the lore on agropelters was so conflicting and chaotic, he wondered if they would find any at all. However he wasn't one to question their dad's decisions, so he didn't ask. He knew how to pick his battles and Christmas spent in the middle of the woods wasn't worth it. The three of them were together, that was enough for Dean, the holidays were never that big of a deal anymore.

He was starting to think they really were on a wild goose chase - even debating saying as much - when finally, after seven amazingly boring days, their dad stumbled onto some tracks in the snow. A quick call on the walkie-talkie - the only communication they had so far from civilization - and Dean and Sam caught up to him.

Kneeling beside the impressions, Dean realized they weren't shaped like what boots would make, or even bare human feet. The tracks larger than he expected, rounded on the outsides as if the creature rolled them when it walked and the toe marks were noticeable and elongated. They were near a section of the woods where there were several dead trees, which also fit the lore.

Nodding, Dean looked at their dad, who was kneeling opposite him. "Any idea if that's what its track is supposed to look like?" Dean asked, returning his gaze to the marks. His breath fogged in front of his face, a constant reminder of the chill - as if he could forget they were spending December practically in the frozen north.

His dad nodded, pointing to a curved area on the outside of the mark. "One paper I read mentioned they roll their feet like that, leaving the rounded mark." He paused, appearing to Dean to be lost in thought before adding, "Which means we're dealing with the larger, most likely carnivorous variety. Fits the disappearances, like I thought."

Looking across the snow, Dean followed the trail of prints with his eyes until he could no longer see them. "You think there's just one?"

"Maybe," John said, standing and brushing the snow from his pant legs. "Could be a pair and the other's still hiding. The only real consensus I found was that they don't tend to den up in packs. Which should be good for us."

Following his lead, Dean stood and glanced at Sam, who had been unnaturally quiet since they'd arrived. He wondered why, though he was pretty sure it wasn't merely from being included nervous about the hunt. Sam was far from new to hunts, but their dad sometimes went with his gut on whether Sam should go out with them or not. The reasoning seemed haphazard at best to Dean, but he kept quiet about it. If it kept Sam from getting hurt, Dean was all for it.

Some days he had to remind himself that his little brother was fifteen now, older than Dean had been when he'd started actively hunting. Didn't make it any easier to think of him as anything _other_ than his little brother or wanting to protect him.

"How do you want to do this?" Dean asked, turning away from Sam.

Their dad was lost in thought for a moment, staring at the tracks, before he said, "Let's go back to the cabin, get some better firepower. There wasn't much info on what will kill them, just that they're corporal, which means they can be killed like any other living creature. There's nothing special required from what I can tell." Glancing between the boys, he finished by saying, "Then we'll split up for a bit, carnivorous or not - we should be able to get the drop on it easily enough, once we've tracked it."

He turned then and started walking back toward the cabin. Dean knew he trusted that they would follow without being told. As they walked, he finished outlining his plan of attack. "I'll follow the tracks, see where they lead. You boys can circle around to the east; meet me on the other side of the thinned area they lead through. Hopefully we'll flush it out and pin it."

In the time it took to walk back to the cabin, Dean glanced over at Sam several times. He was on holiday break from school but their dad had mentioned if nothing came up in January, Sam could even go back to the same school, at least for a while. So Dean was pretty sure that wasn't what was causing the quiet spell, either. Changing schools was usually the main point of contention in the family, so that left Dean at a loss as to what was wrong.

"Dude, what's up?" Dean asked, voice pitched low so that their dad - who was walking ahead of them - wouldn't hear. He didn't like the idea something was bothering Sam so much, especially when he was refusing to talk about it.

Sam turned and glanced at him, looking confused, and shook his head. "Nothing. Why?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean replied, "Cause you're not normally the chattiest girl in the world, true. But this is quiet, even for you."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Sam said with a shrug, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

Letting the topic drop - for the time being - Dean gave his brother another glance, but stayed quiet. It never took long for Sam to break out of one of his moods. His default setting was to talk about anything bothering him, or more often, to pester Dean about his own problems. _God help them,_ Dean thought with a shudder not born of the cold, _Sam really was finally a full-fledged teenager._

And though the rest of the walk back was spent in silence, at least Dean couldn't complain it was an uncomfortable one. He and Sam had never really needed to talk to fit together - they'd always just fit. While he might not admit to it out loud, Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

"Okay, boys," their dad said as he unlocked the cabin door and preceded them into the cabin. Dean smirked at the fact they were in the middle of nowhere, having not seen a single soul for days and yet all doors and windows had to stay locked. The salt he could understand but the locks... almost seemed like a waste of time.

Once the door was shut behind them, John continued. "Dean, you take both the shotgun and a pistol. Buckshot might slow it down, buy you some time if need be, but the handgun will finish it off for certain." Dean nodded, going to collect the weapons.

"Sammy, I just want you watching Dean's back, but take the nine-mill with you. Most likely this critter won't be any trouble, but a second set of eyes can't hurt."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, taking the weapon Dean held out to him. Dean saw him double-check that the safety was turned on, as he'd been taught. Hiding a smile at the ingrained habit, Dean did the same with his own.

"It's going to be dark soon, so let's get back out there while we still have some daylight but take the flashlights with you, just in case. I don't want you two out after dark with no light other than the moon. We might even get this one wrapped up by Christmas, if we're lucky." That Christmas was two days away - and that they rarely celebrated it - was left unsaid.

They both nodded and replied in unison, out of habit. "Yes, sir."

Their dad had just opened the door, ready to leave, when he glanced over his shoulder at them. "Might want to bundle up in a couple of extra layers, too, just in case we're out later than expected. It's damn cold out here after dark. I'll be in touch." With that, and a nod, he was gone.

Up until this point their dad had taken all the after-dark scouting trips and Dean didn't doubt he was right. It was cold as hell out in the woods during the day, with what little sun kept breaking through. He dreaded the idea of being out in the snow and wind half the night.

Dean pulled off his coat and noticed Sam doing the same. It took a few minutes, but soon they both had added a couple of extra shirts before Sam pulled on a hoodie and Dean his favorite sweater. When Sam sat, pulling his hiking boots off so as to add another pair of socks, Dean grinned and followed suit. Nothing worse than wet, cold feet on a hunt - he knew that from experience.

Shoes and coats back on, Dean pulled the door open, letting Sam walk out ahead of him before following and carefully locking it behind them. Looking out through the woods, Dean checked to make sure his flashlight worked before handing a second to Sam. No time to waste, if they wanted to finish before it got too late.

* * *

"Thanks." Sam took the offered flashlight from Dean, tucking it into his coat pocket. On the off chance they did stumble onto something, he wanted his hands free as much as possible. Dean was pretty handy balancing both weapons and flashlights, but Sam didn't want to take any chances. 

While he wasn't a slouch, Sam was really beginning to wish his center of gravity would catch up to his limbs. Damn growth spurts. It was fun to give Dean grief that he was almost as tall as his big brother but it was miserable having to practically relearn how to do anything and everything.

Never mind it was just miserable, period, waking up at all hours, hurting all over. It wasn't worth mentioning, not wanting to give Dean ammunition to use against him. Though he remembered Dean going through similar circumstances, a few years before, it was different - somehow.

Walking and playing sports - what little he was able - were difficult enough. But there was his lack of grace at all things hunting related, where they couldn't afford for Sam to drop the ball at the wrong time. Admittedly, that hadn't happened yet, though it was exhausting making sure it stayed that way. He was working doubly hard, it seemed, just to keep the skills he had, let alone improving on them. Some days he was certain his limbs had minds of their own - stubborn, independent ones that wanted no instruction from him.

Even still, he wasn't sure how he felt about his family protecting him so much. He knew that was unlikely to change, with him being the youngest, but it would still be nice to be able to return the favor eventually. Then again, he was still kind of surprised he was going out with Dean when there was every sign the agropelter was nearby.

He'd read all the lore their dad had dug up - had in fact done some of the research himself - and it was a conundrum. After seeing the prints he had to agree that the smaller, almost friendly creatures he'd read about seemed doubtful. No, it definitely looked like they were dealing with the ape-like, lumbering version. Covered in thick, dark fur they had long arms and legs, and were just as likely to scale trees so as to attack from above as from the ground.

He knew he was older than his brother had been when Dean had started hunting. However, he knew for a fact that their dad had kept Dean away from the really ugly hunts until he was older than Sam was now. Looking at his brother, years removed from that protection, Sam was still grateful for how long it had lasted, for his sake.

Sam hated having to patch up Dean when he was hurt - not because of the work involved. But rather because he hated seeing Dean in pain, no matter how much good he always insisted they had accomplished.

And there was no question they were keeping Sam from the ugly hunts, too. He almost appreciated it, when he didn't feel guiltier every time he watched them go out alone. He was beginning to think it was worse, staying behind, safe but waiting to see if they would make it back in one piece.

Shaking his head, Sam forced his attention back to the hunt. He scanned the trees, remembering to look up as well as out. Whether or not he really felt like he contributed, he had a responsibility to watch Dean's back - there wasn't time for woolgathering.

They'd set out heading east, as their dad had instructed. After walking for about ten minutes, their boots crunching the snow, they turned to angle north, skirting the area where they'd originally seen the tracks. The only sound other than wind whipping through the trees was their breathing. Shivering, Sam flipped his collar up to try and deflect the air from his neck.

He trailed a few steps behind Dean, flanking just to his left. Sam concentrated on keeping an eye on Dean as much as the trees that surrounded them. He could tell that his big brother was on high alert, listening to the empty trees around them. The woods, however, remained silent and still. It was almost unnerving, just how quiet it was.

The joke, when it came, wasn't entirely unexpected given his brother. They could communicate without words, had always been able to and could go for hours without speaking. But Dean had also never met an awkward silence he wouldn't try to break, even if he eventually gave up.

"So you know, there's a chance these are like, furry woodland creatures, right? I looked at some of the sketches dad found. I know the tracks are big, but we might be hunting Thumper."

Sam smiled, he couldn't help himself, Dean's humor, however silly or inappropriate it often was, was also usually contagious. Leave it to Dean to break his bad mood over feeling totally inadequate - especially when he was hunting with Dean - by cracking a joke about a little kid's movie.

"Dude. You have a fondness for cartoon movies I don't know about? _Bambi_ much?" Sam threw back, unable not to rise to the bait.

He regretted it a moment later, his cheeks flaring with warmth when Dean cackled. "Only 'cause you begged to watch it _every single day_ when you were five. I swear, I knew every song and line by heart before you were out of that phase."

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, and Dean's smile grew when he saw the color on Sam's face. "I have no idea where we got that tape, probably forgot to return it somewhere, but good God you were in love with it." Another glance and Dean sniggered. "Dude, close your mouth, you look like a guppy."

Snapping his mouth shut, Sam then said the first thing that came to mind. "Any particular guppy you're thinking about there. Dean? A _Disney_ guppy, maybe?" Dean barely had time to roll his eyes before Sam added, "I don't think it was my idea that we watched The Little Mermaid so many times, _big_ brother."

Sam laughed when Dean's face colored this time as he muttered, "She was hot. Bikini and everything." Dean shot him a glare, a look that promised retribution later. "And I was _twelve_."

"Dude, she was a _cartoon_."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said, causing Sam to laugh even harder. It wasn't very often he got the better of his big brother. He had to enjoy it while he could. And it felt good to laugh like normal teenagers for a bit, even if they were in the middle of a hunt.

One minute they were laughing. The next, Dean was looking out through the trees as he pressed forward and Sam noticed something moving downward, not far above his brother's head.

"Dean!"

He didn't even think before drawing the pistol, taking aim - carefully so, with Dean being so close - and firing. By the time he managed to blink, the creature was on the ground, a large, jagged branch beside its outstretched, lax hand. Its eyes were staring upward, sightless; it's mouth gaping open.

Suddenly Sam couldn't breathe, his throat felt tight and he was gasping but couldn't get any air. He looked to Dean, searching out the familiar presence. Dean who was standing, whole and undamaged, having turned at Sam's cry only to stare at the body that lay between them.

Sam felt the gun drop from his hand, but didn't hear it fall into the snow. He couldn't hear anything other than the roar in his ears. His gaze was riveted to the far too humanlike body that rested in bloodstained snow. It was supposed to be a creature they were hunting, something fierce and monstrous and _not human_. Only... It wasn't.

It was obviously supernatural - something that didn't quite fit in schoolbooks, but it was disturbingly human. While both misshapen and overgrown, the expression on its face was no longer viscous but relaxed in death was alarmingly... normal. Human.

"Sammy?"

Sam jerked his head up to find Dean's face only inches from his own. Sam tried, but couldn't remember him moving.

"Dean?" he managed to ask, his voice cracking. He saw Dean's hands move toward his shoulders but couldn't feel them there. All he could feel was his entire body shaking, his stomach roiling. Breath wheezing, pulse thundering in his ears, he searched Dean's face, shocked to see actual fear in his eyes.

"Dean?"

* * *

Dean grabbed Sam's arms, barely managing to control Sam's fall as his legs folded beneath him. Dropping to his knees in the snow, Dean ducked his head, trying to see Sam's face. Sam's eyes were clenched shut, but quickly popped open as his chest heaved. Dean just managed to duck backwards, his hands still on Sam's arms, to avoid being splattered with Sam's lunch, which quickly covered the snow. 

"Sammy?" he asked again, moving to the side and wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders. He spoke in a soft voice, not wanting to startle his little brother. "Hey, it's okay." Dean refused to let himself wonder if that was a lie or not.

He could feel Sam shaking, even through the numerous layers they both wore, and held on more tightly. The color had completely drained from Sam's face, leaving him almost as white as the snow.

When Sam started gasping for air, hyperventilating, Dean manhandled him away from the mess and shoved his head between his knees as best he could. Threading his fingers through his little brother's hair, Dean rubbed Sam's back with his other hand.

"Just breathe, Sammy. In and out, okay?" He waited until Sam sounded a bit calmer - though his breath was plagued with hiccups - before pulling him back into a sitting position. Dean didn't like the wild look in Sam's eyes, especially how he was staring at the body. He shifted, just slightly, so that he was blocking Sam's line of sight. It wasn't a solution, he knew, but it couldn't hurt.

Before he could say anything else, Dean heard their dad's voice echoing tinny from the walkie-talkie in his back pocket. His eyes not leaving Sam, Dean grabbed it and flicked the switch. "We got it," he said, wasting no time. "Meet us back at the cabin, okay?" Dean thumbed the off switch without waiting for a reply. He'd deal with any fallout from their dad later, for the moment he had his hands full.

"Lets get back to the cabin, all right? Come on, up and at 'em," he said, grabbing Sam's gun from the ground and thumbing the safety back on. He then put his hands under Sam's arms and started pulling him to his feet. They weren't yet completely upright when Sam's legs once again folded beneath him, sending both of them sprawling to the ground.

Closing his eyes briefly, Dean took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wrapped his arms around Sam, twisting them both into a seated position. Dean held onto him for a long moment, pressing his chin against the top of Sam's head.

It had been years since he'd just held his little brother; however, he doubted Sam was even aware of it at the moment. And no amount of "hugs are for girls" comments - from anyone - were going to make him let go until Sam was calm.

Looking at the dead agropelter, Dean berated himself for letting it get the drop on him. It had been nice, joking with Sam about movies, if not a little embarrassing. Sam had been quiet of late, and he had hoped to draw his little brother out of whatever was bothering him. Only in doing so, he'd let his guard down, caught up in the moment. He was just lucky that Sam was a crack shot with a handgun.

He tore his eyes away from the dead creature to look at Sam once more. Sam who was trembling in Dean's arms, his eyes staring vacantly at the woods. Lucky. Yeah, interesting choice of words, he had to admit.

Dean had been sixteen - a full year older than Sam - when he'd made his first real kill. And even then his dad had been nearby and Dean had been ready (as much as he could have been). Not to mention the dead eyes that stared back at the time, accusingly he had thought, hadn't been quite so human.

But Sammy... Dean sighed, pulling a limp-weight Sam tighter into his arms. Sam wasn't ready for his first kill. Hell, Dean wasn't sure _he_ was ready for Sam's first kill. No matter how proud he felt at the moment, for how Sam had reacted and what he had done, it felt like too much, too soon. Ironically, he felt sick at the same time he felt proud.

Sometimes he couldn't help seeing the little boy he'd helped raise, rather than the teenager Sam had become. He couldn't help but wonder when - or even if - that would ever change. Worse, it was hard to think of that little boy as a killer, no matter how justified the cause.

Shaking his head, trying to clear the thoughts that could wait until they were indoors and warm, Dean tugged on Sam's sleeve. "Come on, kiddo. Think you can walk or do I get to carry you?"

The attempt at lighthearted words didn't garner the response he'd hoped for, but Sam's head at twitched to the side. "Dean?" he asked, his voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the wind.

Not in the least bit relieved by the distant response, Dean nodded anyway. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm here. But we really need to get back to the cabin and get out of these wet clothes." The thought occurred to him that it wouldn't surprise him at all if one or both of them got sick, just to add insult to injury.

"It's dead, Dean." Sam's whisper startled him, and he moved so that he could see his brother's face. Sam, for his part, had twisted around and was once more staring - unblinkingly - at the agropelter. "I killed it."

Dean sighed, the sick feeling returning, burning his throat. Still, he refused to hide behind closed eyes, to hide from the pain on Sam's face. "I know."

"You're okay, though, right?" Sam looked up at him then, a flash of panic in his eyes. He watched as Sam quickly looked him over, as he had immediately after the shot. "I didn't get you, too, did I?"

Dean clenched his jaw, his eyes burning at the concern. "No, Sammy," he replied, his voice rough. "You did good."

Practicality winning out, Dean shoved the handguns in his pockets and picked up the shotgun from where he had dropped it in the snow before again tugging Sam to his feet. He stood still, feet braced apart, until he was fairly certain this time they had a chance at remaining vertical. Looping Sam's arm over his shoulders, depressingly easy since Sam's latest growth spurt, Dean set off in the direction of the cabin.

Walking was slow going, Dean carrying as much of Sam's weight as he could, both of them listing slightly to the left. He was taking a more direct path back to the building, hoping to make quicker time than they had on the way out.

Dusk had fallen and Dean paused, holding Sam steady with one arm and pulling the flashlight from his jeans pocket, somehow balancing it with the shotgun he still carried. He flicked it on, swiping the beam across the area before moving forward once more. Their unsteady gate caused the beam to bounce nauseatingly off the trees and Dean could only hope there wasn't another agropelter out there. The light was doing little more than advertising that they were there. But neither did he want them to trip.

They had been moving again for a few minutes when Dean felt Sam's head loll over onto his shoulder. His breathing had finally evened out and though he was still clinging to wakefulness - helpful in walking - Dean was grateful for any small favor they could get.

Dean continued plodding onward, careful to keep his steps steady, not wanting to risk upsetting Sam's fragile balance. The fact that Sam hadn't said another word bothered him - there was no telling what was going through his little brother's head. And though part of Dean was scared to find out, a much bigger part needed to know. He needed to be able to help make it better.

"Still with me, Sammy?" he asked, slightly out of breath from half-carrying his little brother. Sam didn't reply, but he felt him nod against his throat and felt a little better. A silent Sam was worrisome but an unresponsive one would've been worlds worse. "Good to know."

He'd taken a few more steps when Sam finally spoke. "Do you think it had a family?"

Dean flinched, hoping Sam didn't feel it. It hurt to hear his little brother sound so _young_, like he hadn't sounded in years. Debating how to reply, he settled on something that would hopefully make Sam feel better, even if he had no idea the true answer. What was a little white lie when it was his brother's peace of mind?

"No. Nothing Dad found said anything about them staying together. Remember? They don't den up in packs."

"I know it had hurt people," Sam said. He came to a halt, brining Dean to a stop with him. "It killed those people."

Dean turned to face Sam and nodded. "Yeah, Sammy, it did." He wanted Sam to focus on it being a creature, a monster, not something they could relate to. It would help, especially after the shock of his first kill wore off. "And you stopped it."

Sam's face scrunched up, looking as though he was trying to make sense of it. It was something that had long been a matter of habit for Dean and their dad, but Sam was another story. Sam was still young and innocent and Dean had hoped to keep him that way, for as long as they could. Unrealistic, sure, but it hadn't stopped him from hoping.

Before he could again start with his self-recriminations, Dean grasped Sam's shoulder with his free hand. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Sam asked, looking at him, surprise brightening his eyes. "Why are you sorry?"

Dean shook his head. "Never mind. Let's get going. You still doing okay?"

"Dean?"

The uncertain tone voicing the one word question spoke volumes; Sam still wasn't really with him. Rather than answer, Dean tugged on Sam's arm to get him moving. While he was relieved that Sam was now moving under his own power, he didn't want to have this conversation outside, in the cold, in the dark. If ever.

"Come on," Dean said, again checking the area with his flashlight. Now that Sam was a bit more alert, he could more easily watch the surrounding areas. There was nothing, however, much to Dean's relief, and within minutes they were back at the cabin.

* * *

Sam let himself be ushered indoors, Dean's hand not leaving his elbow until he was seated at the rickety dining table. Shivering, he watched as Dean quickly worked to build a fire. However, when he moved to help, he was waved off with a grunt and Sam sat back down. 

Absently, Sam pulled his coat off, his hoodie and extra shirts following. He was still shivering, but he couldn't help but wonder how much was from the cold and how much was from the hunt itself. Dean, too, had started pulling off extra layers and was soon collecting the clothes and laying them out in the living room to dry.

Sam wrapped his arms around his chest, wondering if Dean had felt this way the first time he'd killed something. He doubted it; Dean was far better at hunting than Sam figured he'd ever be. Closing his eyes, he pressed his chin to his chest, clenching his arms tighter.

He started, sucking in a breath and looking up quickly, when Dean touched him on the arm.

"Hey, you okay?" his big brother asked, taking a seat beside him at the table.

Sam nodded, roughly, even though he felt anything but okay. "Sure," he whispered, dropping his eyes from Dean's concerned gaze. He dug his fingernail into a gouge on the table, fidgeting nervously. Logically, he knew that Dean was worried about him, but it made him feel worse for falling apart.

He realized he must have failed at sounding convincing - and really, had he expected to fool Dean's even for a moment? - when Dean sighed. "Sure you are, Sammy." Sam couldn't help thinking that his brother sounded very old right then. Which was funny in a sick way, because Sam couldn't help feeling unbearably young.

Dean surprised him by standing and walking over to the small stove, pulling a large pot out of the cabinet before filling it with water. It was one of their few pieces of kitchen equipment - you never knew when boiling water would be needed to sterilize something.

"Finish changing clothes," Dean said as he lit a match, lighting the burner and turning it up high under the pot of water. Once he was satisfied the flame would hold Dean turned around to face Sam. "I don't want you catching pneumonia."

Sam nodded, understanding, but still asked, "What about you?"

"I'll change once you're done. I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to let this ancient stove out of our sights just yet."

Sam tried to smile at the thin excuse. He knew that by the time he had finished changing Dean would have hot chocolate - no coffee for Sam, not so late at night - ready. He settled on a small nod, when the smile wouldn't come. "Okay."

The cabin was small, only three rooms since the living room and kitchen were one big block. He gave the bathroom a passing glance but ignored it before reaching the small bedroom he was sharing with Dean. Their dad had been sleeping on the couch, leaving the bedroom with its twin beds to them.

His own was made, the duffel he carried his clothes and school work in sitting in the middle. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd pulled his clothes out of the bag just that morning. It had hardly seemed like worth unpacking, not knowing how long they'd be there, so he hadn't.

As opposed to Dean, whose clothes were strewn all over the bed, some dropping onto the floor. For as neatly as Dean kept his weapons, everything else was fair game. Normally it amused Sam as much as it annoyed him. Now it just felt like _home_, which was something Sam suddenly found himself craving - and appreciating.

Dropping onto the bed, the springs protesting worryingly, Sam dropped his head into his hands. He'd been doing his best not to think about it. At some point during the walk back, realizing he was being a burden on Dean, he'd made himself push the memory of the dead creature out of his mind.

Only now, sitting in the darkened bedroom with silence surrounding him and no distractions, Sam couldn't _not_ think about it. Eyes opened or closed, all he could see was the humanlike body, sprawled in the snow.

Picturing it, imagining it staring at him with accusation, Sam's throat closed up and his eyes began to burn. Angrily, he dug the heels of his hands into them, refusing to cry over a hunt. He wasn't a little kid, he knew better than to cry over a monster that had killed innocent people. It was a part of hunting, a fact of life. At least he was determined to convince himself of that.

He took a stuttering breath, gritting his teeth, resolved to hold himself together. What would Dean think if he were to come into the room and find his little brother falling to pieces over a hunt? It was bad enough, being the baby of the family, without acting like one.

If he fell apart, they'd probably never let him go on a hunt again. Sam bristled at the thought of always being left behind, of never being good enough. He didn't want to hunt forever, he wanted something else in the long run - even if he wasn't sure what just yet - but for now, he needed to contribute, to be more than a dead weight. He had to protect his family the way they protected him.

"Sammy!" Sam jerked his head up when Dean called his name from the kitchen. "Everything okay back there?"

He had no idea how long he'd been gone, sitting in the cold room, lost in his misery. Shaking his head - hoping pointlessly that it might clear it - Sam stood and began pulling the damp clothes off. Within minutes he was dressed in his warmest pajamas and thickest dry socks.

Returning to the kitchen, he was unsurprised to find a steaming mug of hot chocolate placed in front of the chair he'd been sitting in before. He did smile then, glancing between the mug on the table and the one Dean was nursing, which smelled strongly of instant coffee. Of course, just because it was late didn't mean _Dean_ wouldn't stick to coffee.

He sat back down at the table, not missing the assessing look that Dean gave him. Comforted by the concern, at the same time he wished it wasn't necessary, Sam held the mug between his hands, letting it warm them. Sam blew across the liquid before taking a drink, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth slowly seep through him. He was grateful his brother had thought of it.

"You gonna be okay if I go change?" Dean asked in a low voice. Both the tone and question surprised Sam, though he knew it shouldn't have.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean gave him a look of pure disbelief, shaking his head. "No, you're not, but I'm going to go change anyway. Be right back." He sat his coffee mug on the counter and quickly left the room, boots echoing on the wood floor.

He'd barely been gone a minute when the front door banged open, wind and snow swirling in. The noise caused Sam to jump, cocoa spilling onto his hands. Hissing, he grabbed a towel, watching warily as his dad shut and locked the door behind him.

"You boys got it?" he asked, giving Sam an appraising look.

Sam nodded, wiping the table clean. "Yes, sir."

"Good deal, though we're going to have a talk about turning the walkie-talkie off." Sam wasn't sure what he was talking about, but nodded his head anyway. His dad continued, unabated. "What did your brother use to kill it? Did the shotgun do any good at all?"

Sam flinched at the assumption it was Dean, even though he understood. The memory of firing the gun, the agropelter collapsing to the ground, flashed behind his eyes and Sam slumped into the chair.

"It wasn't me," Dean said, standing in the hallway, wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt that had seen better days. He had spoken before Sam could shake the memory enough to respond, sparing Sam for the moment. "Though I did turn the walkie-talkie off. Kinda had my hands full." The words and tone were unapologetic, startling Sam.

Warily, Sam looked at his dad, who was in turn staring at him, shock clear on his face. "Sammy?" he asked, as if he couldn't process the thought. If he hadn't been so miserable, Sam would've rolled his eyes at the expression.

"Me." Sam could barely manage a whisper and cleared his throat before trying again, though his voice was no louder. "I killed it." He shuddered. Before, when he'd said those words to Dean, it was unreal, caught up in the moment. It had been far away and all too near at the same time - like a movie. Saying them again suddenly made it far too real.

When his dad dropped into the chair beside Sam, still looking as though he had no idea what to say, Sam shrugged feebly. He wanted to be nonchalant, like they were, about the hunt. He just wished his stomach would stop churning or his eyes burning every time he thought about it.

"Wow, Sammy," his dad said, still staring before he turned to look at Dean. "Where were you?"

Sam looked up sharply, glaring at his dad before looking at Dean. He hated the guilt that was clear on Dean's face - that had been there since it happened. Guilt over something that was Sam's fault to begin with. Dean had been trying to distract Sam, make him laugh. There wouldn't have been any issue, if not for Sam's sullen mood.

"It wasn't his fault," Sam said, cutting off Dean, who'd opened his mouth to reply but had yet to speak. When their dad cut his eyes to Sam, he dropped his gaze. "It was mine."

He heard Dean sigh, hating the heavy, _old_ sound. "It almost got the drop on me," Dean said, taking the seat on the other side of Sam. He had no doubt Dean was staring their dad straight in the eye, which was more than Sam could manage at the moment. "Sam got it before it could get me."

Sam chanced a glance at his dad then, surprised to see actual pride on his face. He swallowed roughly, feeling queasy at what he'd done to put it there. Rubbing his hands over his face, Sam said, "I'm just glad I didn't hit Dean." He looked up then, guiltily at his brother. "You were right there."

Dean shrugged, smiling though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I helped teach you how to shoot, Sammy. Not a problem."

Sam wished he felt so certain. He'd fired before he had even time to think about it, he'd been careful because of Dean being there, yes, but what if being careful hadn't been good enough? The full force of the thought hit him and Sam began to shake, small tremors running through him.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You did good."

Nodding, though not convinced, Sam took a shaky breath. When he opened his eyes, both his father and brother were staring at him. He felt like a four-year-old, crying over a skinned knee, when he looked at them.

"I wish I'd been there," his dad said a moment later, breaking the uneasy silence. Sam cringed, hating the though of his dad having been there to see him fall apart. It had been bad enough with Dean, but Dean was different. "Your first kill isn't easy," he continued, surprising Sam with his words. "I wish I'd been there to help you."

Sam felt stunned, unable to speak for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth before finally finding his voice. "Dean was there." He saw Dean's lips quirk quickly, the hint of a smile quickly smothered by the weight of the moment. Giving Dean a grateful, if embarrassed, look, Sam added, "He helped me."

Dean did smile then, and Sam was glad to see it, even more so when their dad said, "I'm glad to hear that," and smiled at Dean in return. "You both did good."

Sam didn't feel so sure about that. The agropelter still haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He was getting scared that it would always be there, lurking. Something must have shown because Dean said, "It goes away, Sammy. Eventually."

"What?" he asked, staring at Dean through his bangs, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

"The guilty feeling, feeling wrong. It goes away."

Sam wasn't sure he wanted it to get better. Should killing something ever start to feel okay? But he trusted Dean, and he knew that he was just trying to help. All the same, Sam dreaded trying to sleep, worried that the creature undoubtedly would follow him into his dreams.

Suddenly, he remembered how Dean had woken, screaming from his nightmares, after his first kill. Even at the time, Dean had claimed killing the creature was just part of the job, but Sam had known differently. They had never told their dad about the nightmares, but Sam had a sinking suspicion that he had known. There had been no messy hunt for a while after that; maybe that had been their dad's way of trying to help Dean adjust.

"You two should try and get some sleep," John said, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen around them.

Sam saw the look his dad gave him and knew, somehow, that he expected an uneasy night. Lethargy washed over Sam and as much as he dreaded sleep, the adrenaline had left and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.

Standing, their dad motioned for them to do the same. As he stood, swaying slightly, Sam felt Dean's hand on his arm, much as it had been earlier that night. He leaned into the touch appreciatively for a second before steadying himself. As thankful as he was for Dean's strength, he wouldn't always be able to lean on his big brother. He needed to be strong, too. Maybe even for Dean someday.

"I'll clean up the weapons and get the place shut up for the night," their dad said, a rare offer if there was one. And although his voice fell to a whisper, as he walked away Sam still heard him say, "Dean, look out for your brother."

"You know I will," Dean replied, before catching up to Sam and following him into the bedroom. And for all he wanted to be grown up and graceful like Dean, in that moment he was simply happy to let the warmth of those words wash over him.

Lying in the dark, both covered in several blankets to ward off the chill, Sam heard Dean turn over in his bed. He knew without looking that his big brother was now facing him. "You can even snore tonight, if you want," Dean offered, as though granting a gift. "One time offer, though."

Sam couldn't help it, he laughed. It was slightly hysterical, messy, but it felt good all the same. As usual, Dean was trying to help in his very own, often tactless way. It was just Dean's way. Another piece of home for Sam to cling to.

"I'll make a point to, then," Sam replied, curling on his side so that he was facing the other bed.

He knew, no matter what lame jokes Dean made now, when he woke up later - and there was no doubt that he would - Dean would be there, trying to make it better. That was the only thing that gave him the strength to risk closing his eyes and try to let sleep claim him.

Unsurprisingly an image the agropelter greeted him only moments later. Sam's eyes snapped open, his breathing rushed.

"Sam?"

Forcing himself to take steady breaths, Sam willed his heart to stop pounding. After several seconds, he whispered, "Thanks, Dean."

Dean sighed, and the bed squeaked as he tossed and turned, no doubt trying to get comfortable on the ancient mattress. "Taking care of you is what I do, Sammy. Just like tonight when you took care of me." He paused, and Sam wondered if he was done when Dean added very quietly, "Though I'd give anything for it to have worked out differently."

Sam smiled sadly, hating the guilt but appreciating the sentiment at the same time. "I know you would. I'm just glad you're okay," he said, hoping to absolve some of the guilt he knew Dean was dealing with.

"Same here," Dean replied. "Try to sleep, all right? I'll be here when... Just when you need me."

And of that, Sam had no doubt.

fin


End file.
